


In the Shape of You

by PhoenixFalls



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Angst, Anonymous Sex, Consent Issues, Eventual Happy(ish) Ending, F/F, Infidelity, Magical Artifacts, Marking, Orgasm Denial, Queening, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/pseuds/PhoenixFalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena is making a new life for herself, Myka <i>knows</i> that. She has a brand new family, a job where the world is virtually never at stake. Myka wants to respect her decision.</p><p>But the pull between them is just as strong as it's always been, and Myka's weak. She's been the other woman before. At least this way she can have a little piece of what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Voyeurism

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a series of 10 ficlets between 100 and 250 words, each filling one of the spaces on the following kink table, from the LiveJournal community [femslash100](http://femslash100.livejournal.com). (I do not always interpret the prompt kinkily, however.) Each chapter stands alone, but overall it tells a complete story.
> 
> 1. | voyeurism | 2. | biting/bruising | 3. | humiliation/shame | 4. | anonymity | 5. | begging  
> ---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---  
> 6. | punishment | 7. | mirrors | 8. | authority | 9. | queening | 10. | worship  
  
Myka checks that her door is locked twice before she pulls out the artifact.

A year ago Myka would not have been able to get away with this; with Leena gone some things have fallen through the cracks. Like Francis Walsingham’s mirror -- once used to keep Queen Elizabeth’s spy network in contact with their master, now turned to her much seedier purpose.

She has timed this indulgence correctly for once; when the image swims to the surface of the glass Helena is just pulling off her underwear and sinking into the tub.

Her hair is piled on top of her head; a filled glass and a half-empty bottle of wine sit on the floor next to her. The overhead light is dimmed, completing a very romantic picture, but from the open door at the edge of Myka’s sight she’s fairly certain that Nate and Adelaide are out. This moment is for Helena alone.

Helena just sits for some time, head tilted back, eyes closed, sipping her wine. Myka gets comfortable against her pillows as well. Then Helena sets her glass down and begins running her hands across her body.

She teases her slick nipples then slides lower, into the water and between her spread legs. Myka mirrors her movements, somewhat hampered by her yoga pants.

Their bodies are still so in sync. Helena’s breath picks up and Myka’s matches; Myka bites her lip as Helena moans.

They climax together. Myka’s choked “Helena” nearly drowns out Helena’s sigh of “Myka, please--”


	2. Biting/Bruising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular chapter is dedicated to the [shy](http://phoenixfalls.tumblr.com/post/104962042809/any-chance-were-gonna-get-more-of-in-the-shape) [anon](http://phoenixfalls.tumblr.com/post/104975837629/yessss-and-i-mean-if-your-w13-fic-ego-needs) on tumblr who had such lovely things to say about this fic and my Warehouse 13 fic in general. Your comments really meant the world to me, so thank you again!

Myka’s pissed.

She shouldn’t be here, waiting for Helena in this motel in Nowhere, Wisconsin. Not after a case they lost, too slow to stop the artifact from wrecking the girl’s career. A case they would have solved at least 24 hours earlier if Helena, who had encountered the artifact’s pair at Warehouse 12, had been working with them.

But it’s so rare that they can slip away from prying eyes, from Nate’s doubts, Adelaide’s questions, Pete’s curiosity, Claudia’s protectiveness. So Myka has come anyway, and when Helena lets herself in Myka puts her shaking hands to work immediately, pushing Helena up against the faded wallpaper, tearing Helena’s clothing off so forcefully that buttons go flying.

She kisses Helena like a fight, too many teeth, pressed too tight. There isn’t nearly enough air in the room.

Helena just _yields_ to it. Her mouth falls open, her eyes slip shut, and her hands hang loose at her sides like she isn’t sure she can touch. It makes Myka angrier. So Myka does what she promised Helena she wouldn’t: she bites down on the ivory skin of Helena’s breast, hard enough that Helena cries out, hips twitching up to ride Myka’s thigh. When she pulls back Myka can see the blood rushing to the surface of Helena’s skin, working to repair the damage.

It won’t work fast enough, and Myka feels a vicious sort of satisfaction curl in her gut. Helena is hers, and when Nate sees her mark he’ll know it.


	3. Humiliation/Shame

In the weak pre-dawn light Myka’s bite mark stands out, lurid, against Helena’s skin.

They’re as far apart as they can be in the small motel room. Myka is pulling on her last clean blouse over yesterday’s creased trousers, shivering a little in the draft from the air conditioner. Helena is curled into a nest of blankets, naked still. She’s trailing her fingers over the bruise, eyes distant, lips turned up in the smallest of smiles.

Myka hates herself, suddenly, completely. At least Sam and his wife had been separated. In their most recent emails Helena had been full of plans for Nate’s parents’ fiftieth anniversary party. She’s a member of the PTA at Adelaide’s school. Myka’s never wanted her anger, her impulsiveness, her selfish _want_ anywhere near the two of them. Yet now, unless Helena spins a very convincing tale, Nate at least will be hurt by Myka’s actions.

“I’m done.”

Myka hardly recognizes her voice, rough and flat and too loud against the soft hum of the highway. The tremble she'd thought was from the cold has disappeared. Helena’s gaze snaps to her, gratifyingly present and far more shocked than Myka would have expected.

“Myka—“

“No. No more. We’re done. If you need something from the Warehouse, call Artie.”

Then Myka grabs her coat and keys and makes herself walk out the door.


	4. Anonymity

There’s an Englishwoman sitting alone at the bar.

Even from across the room Myka could never mistake her for Helena – she’s shorter, plumper, her dark hair coils as it falls down her back. Up close she wears a decade more on her face than Helena does.

But the low curl of her voice as she orders another whiskey is exactly right, and there’s a familiar hint of a smirk to her mouth as she turns down yet another pass from a wine-soaked businessman. It makes Myka’s chest ache.

Myka’s never managed to make a relationship work when it mattered, but _this_ she can do. She can saunter across the bar, pull the Englishwoman’s attention with the cock of her hip and a coy glance from beneath her eyelashes. She can make enough polite conversation to establish mutual interest, then flash her room key in invitation as she pays for their drinks.

She can order a bottle of wine and set it in the ice bucket to chill, only to forget about it completely when the Englishwoman unbuttons her blouse. She can push pale legs wide and bury herself in soft flesh and sweet musk until that rich voice breaks up into a scream. She can chase her own orgasm under the Englishwoman’s fingers with her eyes squeezed tight. 

She can slip out of the pre-paid room after, leaving the Englishwoman snoring softly in the tangled sheets, without ever giving her name. Without ever being given the wrong name in return.


	5. Begging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're curious, I wrote a little snippet from the POV of Myka's anonymous Englishwoman from chapter 4 [over here](http://phoenixfalls.tumblr.com/post/114793803074/oh-man-that-was-hot-i-am-a-very-very-happy-shy) on tumblr.

Myka's dreams are disturbing. A sharp crack at the glass wakes her, and she happily jumps from her bed to investigate.

It's just Helena below, listing slightly on her feet, solemnly weighing another stone in one hand. She greets Myka with a wide, guileless smile.

"Darling, do you know how many absolutely fascinating things have been discovered about rocks in the past century? Why this one--"

"I don't care."

Helena sways back on her heels, smile collapsing comically fast as her lips form a voiceless, gut-punched “Oh.”

Myka leans her forehead against the cool glass, wishing she could weep for this, for them. Instead she has to go downstairs and make sure it’s ended once and for all.

Again.

Helena has her smile back on by the time Myka is standing in front of her. Myka pulls her robe closed against the chill night air, against her desire to touch.

“You look as lovely as ever, darling.”

“What do you need, H.G.”

Helena gives Myka an exaggerated pout. Myka can smell the alcohol on her three feet away. “Why must I need something to come for a visit? Have we really fallen so far?”

Myka responds only with silence.

After a moment Helena has had enough, throwing the stone down furiously in the space between them and crying out: “What is the point of all of this modern technology if you refuse to use any of it to talk to me? What must I do to get your attention?”


	6. Punishment

“You want my attention?”

Myka grabs Helena by the arm, pulls her roughly into the tool shed behind the B&B. There are bags of soil heaped in the back corner and Myka pushes her down onto them. She isn’t particularly careful of the gardening tools also in the pile.

Helena reaches down to help Myka undo her pants and Myka bats her hand away. Helena tries to reach for Myka’s nightgown instead and Myka grabs both her wrists and pulls them over her head with a sharp “No.”

Helena leans up for a sloppy kiss and Myka turns her face away, watching her right hand clinically as she pushes Helena’s underwear down enough to slip her fingers inside. The floor of the shed is murder on her knees but she won’t be kneeling here long.

She uses every bit of her knowledge of Helena’s body to bring her to the brink, left hand still bruisingly tight around Helena’s wrists. When Helena is writhing, soaking Myka’s hand and making that gasping little whimper high in her throat, Myka looks back up at Helena’s face.

Helena’s eyes are wide and adoring, wet with unshed tears but steady as she watches Myka work her over.

Myka recoils. She has never wanted to be anywhere less than here, the object of this, Helena’s desperate idolatry.

She pulls back, wipes her fingers off on her robe, eyes fixed firmly on the shed wall. “Go home, H.G. I have nothing left for you anymore.”


	7. Mirrors

Walsingham’s mirror taunts Myka now, burial under Myka’s winter sweaters inadequate to dampening its siren call. She gives in at last late at night, when all in the B&B have retired to their separate rooms.

The scene that rises from the glass is eerily similar to the one months ago, before everything went to hell: Helena pulling her underwear down and stepping into a steaming bath, a mostly-empty bottle of wine and a full glass sitting in reach on the floor. She doesn’t move once she’s in the tub, however, just leans back against the porcelain with her eyes closed.

Without the excuse of prurience Myka suspects this is even more of a violation. Still, she cannot look away.

Helena has lit the bathroom with candles tonight, and the flickering light caresses her skin, casting it in a warm glow. Beautiful as she is now, she must have been stunning in her time, buttoned up in starched collars, hunting artifacts and writing masterpieces by lamplight.

Myka is so distracted imagining Helena before, unbroken, that she doesn’t notice what Helena is doing for some time.

Helena is crying. Silently, breath painfully even, tears are leaking down her face.

Myka flinches away, her gaze skittering across the glass looking for something neutral, eventually landing on the bedroom visible through the cracked door.

Myka spent little time in Nate’s house that one heartbreaking visit, but she did glance briefly into the bedroom, brain cataloging it automatically.

Helena is not in Nate’s bedroom.


	8. Authority

Myka finds Helena renting a small cottage ten miles outside Univille. It’s painted sky blue and draped in wisteria vines heavy with blossoms. Helena is tying them back, attempting to uncover a window when Myka pulls into the drive.

She blinks uncomprehendingly for several seconds, then visibly pulls herself together to flash Myka her most winsome smile.

“Darling—“

“No. No nicknames, no extravagant compliments. Just a straight answer. Have you been living here this whole time?”

Guilt and regret flash across Helena’s face. “Myka—“

Myka steps forward, hand falling automatically to the badge at her hip. “Answer the question, yes or no. Was everything you told me about your life with Nate a lie?”

“Yes.”

The bald statement sits between them heavily. The trill of birdsong is incongruous in their silence.

“Why?”

Helena runs a hand through her hair, avoiding eye contact. “I had no desire to explain to you exactly how quickly I was cast aside when my past came to light.”

Deflection again. Myka wants to scream. “Why was being a cheater better than just being with me?”

“Because I can’t be with you, Myka. You’re with the Warehouse.”

Myka gives herself three deep breaths to be sure.

“I’ll leave.”

“It’s your happiest place, darling, I could never ask—“

Helena is shaking when Myka closes the distance between them, eyes shut, mouth pinched tight.

“You’re my happiest place, Helena. You have been since we first kissed. If the choice is between the Warehouse and you, I choose you.”


	9. Queening

Helena’s bedroom has only a twin bed. It’s heartbreaking.

So Myka pushes her down onto it and starts stripping her, following greedy fingertips with greedier lips and tongue. Helena is beautifully responsive, arching into her touch and whimpering when Myka takes it away. She smells of clean sweat and darker arousal and Myka has to taste.

Helena’s already loose and wet, clit throbbing under Myka’s tongue. Myka doesn’t tease, flattens her tongue and laves her just the way Helena likes, bringing two fingers up to push inside nice and slow. She can feel the flex and stretch of Helena around her, and the choked sound Helena makes when Myka begins stroking her clit from inside is delicious.

It takes very little time to bring Helena off. Myka doesn’t stint on wringing every last aftershock from her, but soon enough Helena is writhing more away than towards her and Myka gives in to her own impatience.

Her clothes are the work of moments, and then she’s straddling Helena’s face, grinding her own cunt into Helena’s still-lax mouth.

“Eat me,” she says. Even to her own ears her voice is rough and commanding. Helena’s eyes fly open, meet Myka’s, and for once there’s no trace of sadness in them.

Myka did that with three simple words, and now she’ll take her reward: Helena, all hers at last.


	10. Worship

For a space of time that feels simultaneously endless and too short, Myka is Helena’s entire world. Her knees press tight to the sides of Helena’s head, her scent and taste fill Helena’s every gasped breath, her moans break the hushed silence of Helena’s small cottage.

Her beloved face, triumphant and radiating a possessiveness that warms Helena to her core, is the only thing Helena can see. The only thing Helena wants to see.

Helena knows there will be a price to pay for this joy. If her life has taught her nothing else, it has taught her that when it comes time to pay she will find it too steep a price by far. But for now she will hold onto Myka with both hands, and she will pray to any gods that might be listening that Myka will not be the one to bear the brunt of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is pulled from Jeanette Winterson's _Written on the Body_ : "This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?"
> 
> Feel free to friend me on [LiveJournal](http://phoenixfalls.livejournal.com) or follow me on [tumblr](phoenixfalls.tumblr.com)!


End file.
